


Time of Total Toaster Trouble

by Miss_M



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Violence Against Toasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which various ASOIAF characters live on the same street, and everyone – except Ned Stark – just bought the same model of toaster on sale. </p><p>The toasters refuse to cooperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time of Total Toaster Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Crack with a capital C. I own nothing.

Cersei stared at the toaster in rapidly mounting annoyance. 

The toaster stared back, giving nothing away.

Cersei tried twisting the various knobs and buttons, although she already knew it was a waste of time. Everything was always set on thwarting her. 

She considered opening a window and shouting for Jaime to come over and help her, but decided against it. Her pride was worth more than a piece of toast. Jaime would be no use anyway, now he only had one hand. 

Cersei poked a butter knife into the top opening, but the bread slice didn’t budge. The toaster emitted an odd crackling noise, and she withdrew the knife. 

“Seven hells! Where’s my wine?”

She fetched her half-empty glass from the counter and poured out its contents over the toaster, which erupted in a shower of sparks and died with a satisfying cough. 

Cersei opened a fresh bottle of Arbor gold. She wasn’t really all that hungry. 

*

“Work!”

The toaster declined to respond.

Jaime closed his eyes and counted to five. Brienne was fond of a saying about honey and flies, so he tried that approach.

“Work, please,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. 

The toaster gave a derisive cough and began to smoke. The smell of burned bread filled the kitchen. 

That was it. Jaime was hungry and, for once, in no mood for games. 

“I do not need both hands to destroy you, you wretched contraption!” Jaime stalked toward the counter.

The toaster burst into yellow flames. The aroma of burned bread turned greasy and charcoal-like. 

Jaime took a hasty step back, grabbed a kitchen towel, and swatted at the flames with it. He vaguely remembered something about covering a fire with a blanket to stop it spreading.

The kitchen towel caught on fire. Jaime dropped it into the sink, retreated to where the fire extinguisher hung on the kitchen wall. He stared at the extinguisher for a second, then grabbed his phone and hit speed dial. 

“Brienne, my toaster is on fire, as is my kitchen towel.” Jaime half turned, glanced at the conflagration on the counter. “Soon the kitchen cabinet will be, too. Because the fire extinguisher wasn’t designed for one-handed use. I won’t have to call them, if you come quickly and take charge of the extinguisher.” 

Jaime hung up and stared at the flames licking at the underside of the wall cabinet. His stomach rumbled, undeterred. 

Brienne would never let him live this down. 

*

Stannis pressed zero, listened to the recorded message. “Estimated wait time: eight minutes! Preposterous.”

“Stannis, customer service will not feed us,” Renly complained. “You’re just wasting time.”

“This is not about your stomach, Renly, this is about principle. I do not expect you to understand. Feel free to eat without me.” Stannis retreated into the sitting room with the phone pressed to his ear and his eye on the mantel clock. 

Renly turned to his partner. “What if we unplugged it, then plugged it back in?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Loras replied. “It’s not a computer. You can’t try to charm it either.”

“You underestimate me. I’m desperate enough to try. Not to mention, Stannis will never let me forget the time I invited him over for bagels and couldn’t get the toaster to work.” 

Loras raised his eyebrows. “You do that. While you and your brother are suitably occupied, I’ll see what there is in the fridge, which doesn’t require heating up.” 

*

Daenerys unplugged the useless toaster. Employing a complex maneuver which required the use of a butter knife as well as a fork, she managed to extract her un-toasted muffin from the narrow slots. 

She put the muffin on a plate and took it outside. She laid the plate down on the grass in her backyard, then retreated to a safe distance on her back porch. 

She was about to call out when she remembered that volume control was key. She felt no burning desire to explain to the police and the fire department how her entire street went up in flames. Or even have to explain to Jorah how the shed he’d insisted on building her – with Daario’s unwanted yet valuable assistance – had caught on fire. Again.

Clearing her throat, Daenerys whispered as quietly as she could: “Dracarys.” 

*

Brienne heaved a frustrated sigh as she turned her back on her new toaster and fetched the instructions from the kitchen drawer in which she kept instruction booklets for all her household appliances. 

Brienne reread the general instructions, then the troubleshooting guide. Briefly she considered calling customer service, but was too ashamed of having to explain to someone at the call center in Ulthos that she couldn’t get a simple toaster to work. 

“Maybe I didn’t plug it in properly…” She inspected the toaster’s plug and the wall socket, but everything seemed in order. 

Her phone rang. 

“Jaime? Wait, what? Why don’t you use the fire extinguisher? Oh. Maybe I’d better come over. You should call the fire department!” 

Brienne hung up and cast one last, longing look at her unplugged toaster before she shrugged into her jacket and hurried down the street to help Jaime. Provided there was anything left of his kitchen by the time Brienne got there, he owed her a meal at the very least. 

*

After getting off the phone with Loras, Margaery leaned very close to the stone-cold toaster and whispered to it in a low, sweet voice. She praised it, called it a fine and well-made toaster, which knew its own functions best. 

After a moment’s consideration, the toaster started to heat up. 

Exactly sixty seconds later, it ejected her toast, turned the perfect golden brown and deliciously hot. Margaery didn’t even have to shove the bread back inside and twiddle the knob for an additional half minute of toasting. The toast was perfect.

Margaery smiled as she watched butter melt on the warm toast and inhaled its aroma. She would amuse herself to no end reminding Renly that she’d succeeded where he had failed. 

*

Ramsay was bored. 

The stupid ankle monitor wouldn’t let him leave the house, not even to go out into the front yard. He could still sit by the big bay window in the front room, but having to watch the kid who lived with his sister across the street through plate glass and at a distance was no fun. Ramsay was reduced to making his own entertainment.

Father wouldn’t approve, but he rarely approved of anything Ramsay did. At least once he’d dismantled the fancy new toaster Father had bought on sale, and figured out a way to rewire it so it gave an electric shock to the next person who tried to use it, Ramsay could enjoy a good laugh. Serve Father right for dragging his feet with the paperwork to appeal Ramsay’s house arrest. Plus, Ramsay hated toast, bagels, muffins, all that crap. Little girl food. 

He put down the screwdriver and surveyed the pieces of toaster spread across the kitchen counter. He felt a real sense of accomplishment. Once Ramsay disassembled something, it held no more secrets to him. 

*

Theon hit the toaster with the flat of his hand. 

The toaster produced a hollow _ding_ , yet remained disinclined to heat up or eject the bagels Theon had put in or do anything else. 

Theon hit it again. Same result.

Asha leaned over his shoulder. “You know what? Fuck this. Let’s go steal the neighbor’s toaster.”

“Yeah!” 

*

“We could try bribing it,” Tyrion suggested. 

“While I never believed I would say this of anything under the sun, I doubt a toaster has any need of money,” Petyr countered. “I could try dropping thinly veiled threats of a mysterious nature.” 

“Do you suppose a toaster responds to threats?” Varys replied in his soft, derisive voice. “I thought you were meant to be clever.”

“Well, unless your little birds imparted to you great and secret knowledge about the ways of toasters, what do you propose we do?” 

The trio considered the toaster for a long moment. The toaster seemed unaware of their scrutiny or it was simply ignoring them. 

“We could skip the food and just start drinking,” Tyrion pitched in helpfully. 

Varys glanced skyward. “For a moment there, I was certain your sister had joined us while we were too preoccupied to notice her arrival. I, for one, never drink on an empty stomach.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Petyr said insinuatingly. Varys ignored him. 

Bronn entered the kitchen, stopped when he saw his housemates gathered around the counter, staring intently at a toaster. “What’s going on?”

“We can’t get this toaster to work,” Tyrion informed him. 

“Speak for yourself,” Petyr muttered. “I’m still plotting a course of action.” 

“Starvation would not be my preferred manner of death,” Varys said to no one in particular. 

Bronn raised an eyebrow. He strode up to the counter, snatched up the toaster with such force its cord was torn from the wall – the cord whipped over Tyrion’s head and caused Petyr to dodge hastily, while Varys very nearly grinned – and flung it out of the kitchen window. Mercifully, the window was open. For such a small appliance, the toaster made a tremendous crash as it shattered on the paved garden path. 

“There, problem solved,” Bronn said cheerfully while his housemates stared at him with varying degrees of shock, astonishment, and grudging admiration. Bronn flipped open his phone. “Pizza, burgers, or Dornish curry?” 

*

Ned Stark was relieved to be home after a long day at work. He dropped his briefcase on the couch, poured himself a drink, then set about assembling the ingredients for a grilled cheese and ham sandwich, with lettuce and tomato on the side because Catelyn was always after him to eat healthy while she was away. 

When he had everything ready and within easy reach, he turned to the counter where all his kitchen appliances were ranged in a neat row. 

His toaster was gone. 

Ned stared at the gap between the microwave and the blender. His lip curling with dire suspicion, he marched up to the kitchen window and looked out at the neighboring house.

The Greyjoy siblings were on their front porch, their feet up on the railing as they jostled for space on the porch swing. They were enjoying bagels and beer, and laughing about something. 

The sight of their laughing faces, all sound blocked out by the windowpane, made Ned’s teeth ache. 

He picked up his phone. “Robb? It’s your dad. How are you, son? Good, that’s good. Listen, when you and Jon visit next weekend, make sure you bring a pair of work gloves each. I’ll have a small job for you. No, I can tell you right now. We are going to make off with the Greyjoys’ supply of firewood.” 

Ned listened to his eldest sputter.

“Son,” he interrupted gently. “I never said we would steal their firewood. We would never do that. We are simply going to remove it during the night while they’re asleep, and hide it until they are good and ready to make amends for stealing my toaster _again_ , at which point we’ll return their fuel supply to them. It’s high time the Greyjoys learned their lesson, and winter is coming.”


End file.
